Take Me Home

I'm still mad.

While we were at the car dealership today, before I went to the mall, realized that payphones don't exist, had a panic attack and was swarmed and eaten alive by a cloud of mosquitoes while F stayed in the car with the windows rolled up, slapping furiously at the interior of the car unawares that I was locked out of the house and losing blood fast, we were at the car dealership (again sigh). This time it was Honda in Alexandria. F drove a Civic and, as we proceeded to exit said car (which smelled like dirty feet), I grabbed the door frame between the window and the weather stripping. Meanwhile, F rolled the window up and turned the car off.

I screamed like a banshee and writhed, attached to that god-awful armpit car for 3 full minutes 5 seconds tops (F informs me) before F could restart the car and roll the window back down. How does someone DO THAT?? Roll a window up and turn off a car and pull the keys out of the ignition SO quickly. Especially when "someone" does everything else so... carefully slowly the rest of the time?

When I was finally released from my hellish armpit-car of torture chamber; I was overcome. OVER. COME. with a blind, seething rage. (That is my gut reaction when someone hurts me - physically or otherwise; I can't help it; I know, I need therapy). I'm sure I made quite a spectacle for all Honda-perusers to enjoy as I walked/ran away from the dealership, with F in tow, and yelled "Get the F*&^ away from me" twice. Lovely.

Then I ran to the Subaru lot (which was somehow mcuh more homey and comforting than Honda) and knelt behind an Outback to cry my eyes out. Thoughts like: What the Hell am I doing at a car dealership in Virginia?; What the Hell have I done with my Life?; WHY is it SO f^&%ing humid?; and I WANT MY MOTHER! overwhelmed me. I really let loose - spit flying, snorting, wailing (I think it's been building for a few weeks now). The parts guy even drove by and peered under the car to see if I was either

A. an otherwise healthy person having a wholly inappropriate reaction to a minor injury or
B. An otherwordly, satanic apparition come to the Subaru dealership for his soul.

Apparently, he decided on the latter and sped off, post-haste, in his parts-mobile.

I finally calmed down and returned to the Honda lot (composed, controlled, poised). Just like I had NEVER been there 15 minutes before having a meltdown like a 3 year old.

But what I really wanted to SAY is, F never let me tell him what it was like to be in that moment. I was confused. I knew that there was horrific pain, I knew that I was trapped, I could see that F was in control. I didn't understand for *whatever* (3 seconds?) and it broke my heart for that instant. I can't explain it any better than that, and when I tried, F told me to get over it, that he has had his finger slammed in the door, too and that it isn't that bad. Ahem.

That's SO not it. Not at all. It was the duration; it was the fact that he was in control; it was the fact that I was helpless; it was the fact that I have asked him SO. many. times. NOT to roll the car windows up all the way - that for that instant, it felt like he was torturing me to spite me. Yes, because we have had this exchange SO many times - "F, please leave the windows cracked" and he persists in hermetically sealing the car before we depart every time, everywhere, in ANY weather. Even MY car, when I'm driving!!

And I guess all of those thoughts just converged at once to produce an ugly grief/anguish/rage/pain display for the viewing horror/pleasure of the Honda populace. I feel guilty for acting like a little kid. I kept thinking the ENTIRE time: "If this was Kendall, and Kyle rolled her finger into a car window, for a long time, and it really hurt; she would endure it with a modicum of grace and composure, inform Kyle that she had been injured, but, no she was fine; excuse herself to the restroom; dab her eyes; refresh her mascara; administer first-aide to her right index and middle fingers; and return to the car lot. Basically, act like a lady - which I always fail at. Badly. Ugh. So, I felt even worse because I will never grow up to be like my little sister.

I will always snort when I laugh and guffaw instead of laugh.

Anyway.

So, it's about quarter to one now and F is fast asleep. I, as usual, am wide awake. I rolled over to F, assumed a seductive pose and whispered his name. When he awoke I whispered,

Me: It's hot and throbbing

F: it is?

Me: MMMmmmmm, YES!

F: What is?

Me: MY FINGER!!! Snort, guffaw, snort.

Farewells and Churchbells

We got hitched. Sorry to be gone so long, but F and I have been all sorts of busy. We got married, said goodbye to my friends and family, drove cross-country, lived at a motel 6 and (finally) moved into a little cottage on the Potomac. That's us (F's dad in the background) having our first post-nuptial smooch. It was SO perfect. Easy, small, gaudy, pink, vintage-y, family and California. Oh, and the REAL dress wasn't any of the dresses that I mentioned in other posts. At the last minute (3 days before??) I finally realized that, sadly, I was not going to lose 20 pounds and fit into my actual vintage wedding dress, so I bought a brand-spankin' new one. That is not a great picture of it, because you can't see that it is actually tea-length and has a semi-full skirt. Alas, it had a vintage-cut, but was not the real deal and not the right fabric or my Juliet cap, so I broke down and wore a veil.

My sisters were gorgeous in their pink dresses; that was the only thing that I got right the first time. We made our own bouquets and they turned out 100 times better than typical florist bouquets. No chintzy fillers - all gorgeous, full, pink roses in a variety of shades. F had a pink rose boutonniere that looked so lovely next to his white dinner jacket. It was my dream wedding - must say.

F surprised me ad I surprised him - for my ring (if you recall) he gave me a 30s cushion cut engagement ring that belonged to his father's mother and on the day, he but a slender, platinum band next to it. (The inscription from his grandfather to his grandmother still on the inside. When it was time to get F's ring (I took him with me) he wished that I had something to hand down to hm as well, something with a little history. But alas - the "My Family Name" family coffers contained no such item, so I had to "make due". All I had was my mother's wedding right that was given to her by my father. But it was yellow gold and obviously a woman's, and obviously VERY 70s (they got hitched in Vegas in the mid 70s). So I took the tiny diamond out of my mother's ring and had it embedded into the INSIDE of F's platinum band from Tiffany. So, he knew he was getting the ring, but had no idea that it had a surprise inside. I also gave him a Swiss Army watch that I mentioned before. I was fairly nervous about that one because I've never seen him wear a watch, but this is a nice one, so I thought he'd like it and I was right. Plus, he is always asking me what time it is, which drives me insane.

Well - F had a little surprise for me! On our wedding night he handed me by OWN Tiffany-blue ring box and inside was a perfect, little diamond eternity band. Very elegant. So I got exactly what I wanted - and I think he did too.

The day after the wedding our families headed back to their respective homes and we checked into a mineral springs resort and spa in central California. We spend the next 24 hours nude in a mineral spring hot tub. It was fabulous.

Then we hit the road - CA - MD in 5 days. With two cats. Not so much. We arrived and checked into the Motel 6, optimistically thinking that it wouldn't be too hard to rent something. 2 weeks later, we finally got a place. And I will never be checking back into the motel 6 again - as long as we both shall live. Now we live in a little cottage by the river and I'll tell you all about it - next time.